Chapter 7
Everyone must have a breaking point. Luckily for Deedee, she managed to get through that night, and the miserable months ahead without reaching hers. Some people never seem to reach that unfortunate point of desperation that means the end of the road for them-or, at the very least, the end of the road they're traveling at that particular time. Others, the less fortunate ones, reach their end gradually, taking blow after blow without visibly flinching. Then, one sudden period of stress and they go all the way. And there are a few who seem to swing along with no trouble at all, until, without warning, they are suddenly catapulted out their safe little cocoons, and come face to face with the uglier facts of life.
Deedee fit into none of these categories. Even her love affair with Pat Aniel and its subsequent consequences seemed to fit into a certain unique pattern. She'd always known how she wanted to live, where she wanted to go. She'd always known what she would do, once she reached that destination. When she'd walked into the Blue Swan and seen Pat's sketch taped to the mirror behind the bar the pattern had seemed to waver a bit. But she knew that even if he failed to find her this time she'd go on with her plans. She also knew that sooner or later he would find her-waiting for him and still loving him.
Angelo's attempt at rape had forced the next move, and, in all probability delayed her reunion with Pat. This she knew, but the temporary setback didn't change the ultimate goal. She was a bit shocked, but pleased in spite of it, that she'd managed to turn the rape scene to her advantage. She hadn't realized before that point that she'd changed enough to fight back when it was necessary. It was only after she'd collected her money from Charley and left the bar that the fear began to set in. Angelo was definitely a brute. His entire background and his kind of action were a new, strange thing to Deedee. If he'd come after her-and how far he'd come if he moved at all, she had no way of knowing. She recognized the fear she felt for what it was. Momentarily panicked, she almost immediately caught hold of herself and decided to continue moving as she had planned.
She began to pack hastily, her mind as busy as her hands. She had decided to quit Angelo's this weekend, so that much hadn't changed. But she'd intended to be several hundred miles away from Baltimore before the avaricious and overly amorous Angelo discovered her absence.
She walked into the small bathroom and opened the cracked mirror which served as the door of her medicine chest. She began to take out the few small bottles, vitamin pills, aspirin, non-prescription-type tranquilizers and deodorant-all she'd managed to accumulate during her short stay in the grimy little apartment. To hell with Angelo, she told herself as she wrapped the bottles in miscellaneous bits of lingerie and drip-dry hankies, stuffing them at odd angles down into the sides of her two small suitcases. Let him try to find me. As Uncle Tim used to tell Mom when he was on a binge, "They can kill me, Mary, but by God, they can't eat me!"
Back in her narrow bed-living room, she began a methodical check of the drawers and two tiny closets. It wasn't that she had very much to be forgotten, but that she needed everything she had. The smallest item, left behind, would mean an expenditure she could not afford. Finished, she picked up an almost empty half pint of liquor from the poorly painted dresser and poured the remains of its contents into the jelly glass she'd laughingly christened her "snifter." She sat down on the sagging couch and began to sip the warm, iceless drink.
The next bus didn't leave for another two hours, and she didn't relish the idea of sitting around the huge barn of a bus station waiting for it. She fell into a sad-happy kind of reverie. When she went to the hospital, she'd tell them she was a war widow-a Vietnamese war widow, maybe? She giggled, with just a touch of hysteria. She didn't even know if any Americans had been killed in that silly war. She could only hope whatever hospital she ended up in would be equally uninformed. After all, it was the only war going on these days! Maybe, she told herself, just maybe, Fat will have found me by then. Maybe I won't have to lie my way in and out of the maternity ward. Whatever, I shouldn't be sitting here brooding about it. We'll face that little goodie when we come to it.
Without another thought, she got up from the old couch, put the jelly glass firmly down upon the dresser and, picking up the two suitcases, walked out of the apartment. She'd go to the bus station, check her luggage and treat herself to a drink at a nearby bar. A Bon Voyage drink, she told herself. We can't afford it, but we can't afford this solitary brooding either. She didn't look back at the old building as she hailed a cab.
The bus ride from Baltimore to Los Angeles was a nightmare for Deedee. She was so exhausted, sick and discouraged when the huge conveyance finally pulled into the palm-lined station on Vine Street, that she didn't even feel relief in the knowledge the trip had finally ended. She all but fell out of the bus, managed to fight back her nausea until she'd claimed her bags. Then she walked wearily toward one of the waiting cabs and all but fell into it. The hell with my budget, she told herself.
I've got to get to a decent hotel and get a good night's sleep under my belt. Tomorrow I can worry about money-not tonight!
"A hotel, driver. Any nice hotel in the neighborhood. And I don't know your town, so I'll just have to take your word for it."
"You want a commercial place, or more like a residential pad, honey?" the cab driver asked, pleased at being given her trust, and anxious to please her in return. "The Plaza's nice-just a few blocks up Vine-but it's more or less a businessman's hotel."
"The Plaza will be fine, thank you. I'll look for something more 'homey' tomorrow. Right now all I want is a hot shower and a nice soft bed to flop on!" Deedee leaned wearily back against the cold leather upholstery.
"No sooner said than done!" the cheery voice, meant to help Deedee, only made her more depressed. The short ride was driven in silence. Deedee checked in, was whisked promptly up to a large, air-conditioned room on the fifth floor, had taken her shower and gone to bed before she realized she hadn't even asked the price. Tomorrow, she told herself, as she felt sleep begin to overtake her. Tomorrow, I'll worry about everything.
Before the next day was over she'd gotten a job doing some part-time typing from an employment agency just across the street from her hotel. The woman who'd interviewed her knew the neighborhood completely and not only lined Deedee up with a job, but sent her to a small apartment building, just three blocks north on Hollywood Boulevard. The rent was cheap, the building clean, and Deedee moved in immediately.
Evenings, she'd watch TV or go to an occasional movie. She tried reading, studying, taking long walks up the gaudy, world-famed boulevard, but time still hung heavy on her hands. Some nights she'd walk so far that when she returned to her tiny home she was too tired to think. She was grateful for the exhaustion. The pain of her last meeting with Pat; the knowledge that her parents must be heart-broken, the awareness of the dark days ahead-all of them hurt terribly. She frequently woke in the morning with tears in her eyes, unable to recall which dream had put them there. At least, she'd assure herself at such times, at least I'll have the baby. When Pat finally gets here, I'll have his child for him.
She was in her fifth month, and feeling life within her, when she made her first California friend. She'd stayed late at the office that night, typing some stencils that could easily have waited until the next morning. She didn't, however, feel much like taking one of the long walks; this was one of the more "dead" nights on television, and she'd seen every movie on the boulevard. As she typed she was suddenly aware of a draft from the doorway behind her desk. Turning in surprise, she saw a young Mexican girl standing behind her, feather-duster in hand.
"Buenos noches, senorita," the dark-haired girl greeted her. "I didn't know anyone would be working this late. I hope it won't disturb you if I clean the office while you're here."
"Oh-why, no. Of course not. Actually, I shouldn't be here, but I was kind of blue-" Deedee never understood why she'd suddenly felt like confiding in the girl. "I didn't have anything to do at home and-" The hot tears began to well into her eyes and she turned her head in mortification. Quick sympathy sprang into the eyes of the young Latin.
"I know what you mean, senorita. I, too, get very lonely. I sometimes wish I could earn enough money to return to Mexico. But then, I remember how bad things were when I left and-" She heaved a sigh, filled with the memory of past days-"and I pull back my shoulders and finish my work. My work!" She looked bitterly at the duster in her hands. "If only there weren't so many Mexicans in Los Angeles. If only the gringos would realize we can do something besides this!" She looked away in embarrassment as Deedee turned to stare at her. "Sorry, senorita. Sometimes I talk too much."
"What's your name?" Deedee's question was almost an order.
"Maria. Maria Feliz. Why?"
"How long does it take you to finish up here? Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Diedre Ryan-and I must sound rude. But it just occurred to me that we both 'talk too much.' Probably because we're both strangers in a strange town. I thought maybe, if you'd like to, we could have a sandwich or something after you've finished. Maybe we could become friends." Deedee felt the words pouring out, and couldn't have held them back had she wished.
The next week the two girls moved into an apartment together. By pooling their resources they managed to get a fairly nice place with the California status symbol of a heated swimming pool. They became the closest of friends, and Maria was with Deedee when the child was born.
During those final months, Maria learned the full story of Deedee's troubles. She gave her sympathy, warmth and understanding. There was no condemnation of her loving surrender to Pat; no bigotry in her acceptance of Deedee's determination to give birth to the child, most importantly of all, to Deedee, there was complete acceptance of her plan to continue her education in California. Both girls knew it was an almost impossible dream, one that would mean fantastic hardships for Deedee. To take care of a child, a fatherless child, would be difficult enough. To do so and put oneself through college at the same time tripled the problem.
"I must get my degree, Maria. I absolutely must! You know the problem you have finding decent work. You say it's because you're Mexican. But believe me, without a college education these days, in this country, you haven't a chance in the world of earning a decent living. I don't intend to have my child grow up in a poor, hand-me-down kind of world. The only way I can do anything about it is to put myself in the kind of income bracket I deserve. Oh, I know it's going to be rough. And I don't know quite how I'll pull it off. But believe me, no matter what, I'm going to finish school!"
Maria believed Deedee. She offered her help. Financially, she could do nothing, but at least she could take care of the baby while Deedee was at school. Between the two of them, she assured her new friend, they'd make it. She could get jobs covering those hours Deedee would be free, and stay with the child while she was away.
Before Deedee went to the hospital, everything was set. She'd been accepted by Blue Harbour University, a small but good college near the ocean. She and Maria had both banked every extra penny they had, and the first tuition had been paid.
When the child was born, Deedee called her Maria.